The Other Countess (27 page)

‘Oh, sneck up, Jamie! I’ll laugh when your turn comes,’ Will replied, stalking from the room.

19

Nervously fingering a beautiful ruff borrowed from Jane, Ellie found the atmosphere oppressive as they waited at the table for her father to appear. Will dispatched Turville to root him out of Walsingham’s room and till such time as he returned, the diners were left staring at the barren board. The countess made pleasant conversation with Henry and Jane, their discussion turning on current court gossip to which Ellie could not contribute, not being an intimate of the inner circle. James had given her a kind smile, but was now trying not to look at Jane. Will was silent, his fist clenched around the handle of a tankard. He seemed furious, but with whom? Her father for being late? Her for refusing him?

‘My apologies, my lords, ladies, gentlemen,’ her father said brightly, striding into the room with the energy of a much younger man.

‘Now we may start,’ Will said gruffly. They all stood as he mumbled a hurried grace then signalled to the servants.

‘How is my patient?’ the countess asked Sir Arthur as he took his seat in the middle of the table at Ellie’s side.

‘Well enough, my lady.’ He turned to Ellie, beaming at her. ‘I have good news, my love.’

Ellie put down her spoon, bracing herself for the next disaster. ‘Good news, sir?’

‘Walsingham is going to send me to the Tower.’

Will spat out the mouthful of ale he had been drinking. ‘What!’

‘The Tower?’ Ellie said incredulously.

Her father nodded happily.

‘As … as a prisoner?’

He laughed and patted her hand. ‘No, no, silly Ellie! As a guest of honour. We’ll have lodgings in the White Tower.’

It was worse than she could’ve dreamt. How could Walsingham have sold this incarceration to her father as an honour? ‘Why?’

‘He wants me to experiment with my phoenix tears explosive. We need fire ships, apparently, as a way of defending our ports against a Spanish armada. Her Majesty is making preparations just in case, you know.’ Sir Arthur dug into the bowl of soup in front of him and took a satisfied slurp.

Ellie feared she was sounding like his echo, but every word he let fall shook her worse than his laboratory bombs. ‘An armada?’

‘Flotilla of armed ships,’ her father explained breezily. ‘Of course, the Spanish will never succeed.’

‘They might,’ James said darkly, ‘if backed by enough ground forces to mount a proper invasion from the Low Countries.’ Cecil nodded in agreement, his expression pensive.

‘Then fire ships it is,’ her father concluded, the light of enthusiasm burning bright in his eyes.

Ellie turned to Will, who was staring at her father with a
mixture of horror and amazement. He shook his head slightly and ripped off a piece of bread.

‘What about your quest for gold, sir?’ Ellie asked in a low voice, hoping she would not be overheard.

‘Oh that.’ Sir Arthur waved a hand airily. ‘That can wait. Sir Francis explained how urgent this mission is – the service I will be doing my country by serving him. He’s going to pay me!’ He said the last comment with something like wonder in his voice.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Ellie stared at her father, trying to track this strange behaviour to its source. ‘You’ve never been diverted from your aim before. Not by me, not by anyone.’

He smiled at her in that infuriatingly patronizing way of his. ‘Now, now, love, you are only a child. You cannot be expected to understand. I’ll have a laboratory of my own, furnished with the best equipment. There are more secrets to unlock than that of gold. I’ll be looking for the source of the very power that causes explosions – a matter little understood by scholars.’

Dios
, thought Ellie, he had another enthusiasm to follow. He’d not been cured of his gold fever, merely swapped it for one for which Walsingham had a use.

‘When do we leave?’ she asked quietly.

‘As soon as may be,’ Sir Arthur replied. ‘How about tomorrow?’

‘And what about Dame Holton?’

Her father frowned slightly, his eagerness having quite driven the drama of the last two nights from his mind. ‘Oh yes. You see, Ellie, it seems that we were quite wrong about
her. She was playing host to a Catholic priest! Walsingham explained it all to me.’

‘And you are just going to abandon her?’ Ellie tortured her manchet into tiny morsels, plucking at the pieces with her fingers as a way of stopping herself slapping her father in front of everyone.

‘Well, no.’ Her father bent his head towards Will, whom Ellie suspected was listening in on their conversation. ‘The earl here seems a reasonable fellow. He’ll do what’s right.’

Unbelievable! For a few minutes the night before last, Ellie had thought her father had risen above his own preoccupations to defend another, but the mood had not survived the heat of this new obsession. She raised her eyes in a wordless plea to Will.

‘I have made arrangements, Lady Eleanor,’ Will said stiffly. ‘March is going to join his fellow priests in confinement at Banbury. Unless further proof against Dame Holton emerges, she’ll be freed on a promise of keeping the peace.’

‘That … that sounds very wise,’ Ellie managed.

‘Partly Cecil’s idea,’ Will admitted with a wry smile. ‘Couldn’t possibly think up something so enlightened myself, now could I?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. You underestimate yourself, my lord.’

‘Do I, Lady Ellie?’

She nodded and smiled shyly at him.

‘I won’t forget you think so.’ His voice was almost a caress.

Ellie felt her cheeks redden. They’d let their tone become too intimate – and in the very public circumstances of the dinner table. Everyone had fallen silent; she guessed that they were straining to hear what passed at the head of the table.
‘What I mean, my lord, is that all who meet you, think highly of your abilities.’

‘Do they now?’ broke in Sir Henry Perceval loudly. ‘And what abilities are they, sweeting? What
experience
have you of our host here? Anything you wish to share with the rest of us?’ His innuendo was so broad you could have planked the Thames with it and walked across.

‘I’m sure the lady refers to his nice judgement on the matter of our Catholic renegades,’ Cecil said quickly. ‘I saw him deal with March quite smartly this morning – good work, which I’ll report to my father.’

Ellie thanked her stars that Cecil was there to get her out of that hole, though she knew that Perceval had managed to tarnish her good name in front of his sister and Will’s mother. She didn’t have the courage to lift her eyes to look at them, so she picked up her spoon, her hand shaking, hoping no one else was going to comment on her behaviour. The problem was that she didn’t feel entirely innocent of the accusation. What decent girl would kiss the earl as she had done?

‘Lady Jane, if I might beg a moment of your time after dinner?’ Will asked, reducing the diners once more to silence.

Ellie put her spoon aside, her appetite quite fled.

‘Of course, my lord. I am at your service,’ Jane replied coolly.

The earl led Jane into the glasshouse, a new feature for English gardens that had impressed Jane when she saw it the first time. It showed the earl kept abreast of progressive ideas and would spend money to benefit his estate. How fitting that he had brought his prospective bride here, she thought
glumly, as with her money he could afford to build hundreds more.

Stopping in front of a display of tender spring blooms, he turned to face her.

‘My lady, I have received permission from the Queen to proceed with my suit. Will you do me the very great honour of being my wife?’ He spoke rapidly, like a patient bolting a foul-tasting medicine.

Jane felt a sigh of disappointment inside. It was so … so passionless. If she were a better person she would refuse him for her friend’s sake, but Jane was a realist, she knew she cared too much for her position and family expectations to make that gesture. Besides, who would really benefit? ‘Thank you, my lord, I accept.’

‘I will write to your father today telling him that we have come to an agreement. If you wish to enclose a note of your own, I would be happy to send it with the messenger.’

Straight to practicalities.

‘You are too kind, my lord.’

The earl paused as if scenting the sarcasm she had not intended to let him hear.

‘No, madam, it is you who are kind.’ He took her hand as an afterthought and placed a proper kiss on her fingers. Jane knew in her heart that he did not kiss Ellie like that, closed-mouthed and dutiful. She slipped her hand free as soon as he released his grip.

‘Pray excuse me, madam: with your permission, I would like to break the good news to my family immediately.’

She nodded him away, then watched him walk swiftly back to the house. That must have taken all of five minutes from
the moment they left the dining room together. Would he be as perfunctory about his marital duties? The thought made her shudder. She plucked the prize rose specimen from a pot on the bench and tore the petals off, rolling the seed head in her fingers until it was quite destroyed. Damn him.

Jane knew there would be one person more miserable than her in Lacey Hall, but she took some finding. Finally, she tracked Ellie down to a nook off the library, hiding behind a heavy curtain.

‘Room for two?’ Jane asked softly.

Ellie tucked her feet up to make space. Without farthingale hoops, she was able to sit with her knees up against her chest, a freedom that Jane quite envied her. She was forced to take a more ladylike seat with feet on the ground.

‘I’ve news. I wanted you to hear it from me first,’ Jane began.

Ellie turned huge dark eyes to her and Jane saw that she knew.

‘I’ve agreed to marry Dorset.’ She was wedding the earl, but they both were aware that Ellie owned the man.

‘Congratulations, my lady.’

‘Please, remember to call me Jane.’

‘I hope you will both be very happy together.’ Ellie managed the complete sentence before tears spilled from her eyes. Jane looked away, thinking it better to pretend not to notice.

‘You promised to remain my friend.’ Jane knotted her fingers together in her lap.

‘I … I will. Please give me a little time to … to get used to the idea.’

‘Will you write to me from London?’

Ellie cleared her throat, regaining control. ‘Of course. Where will you be?’

‘Now this is settled, I’ll return to court. My parents will join me there and we’ll complete the arrangements.’

‘Arrangements?’

‘The contract, the dowry – my wedding clothes.’

‘Ah yes.’

‘Ellie, I’m sorry.’

Her friend turned her face to the window. ‘Don’t be.’

‘No, I am, in more ways than I can count.’ She slipped a pearl brooch off her stomacher and pressed it into Ellie’s cold hand. ‘For friendship.’

Ellie closed her fingers around it. ‘For friendship.’

Nell lay in wait for her prey that night in the back passage by the kitchen as the staff drank to the health of the new couple inside. The conditions were as near perfect as she could devise: Henry was hounding the alchemist’s daughter, her mistress was playing the lute for the family, and Turville was in his cups. But he was taking far too long about it. She wondered if she could lure him out of company with some excuse – a message perhaps? Before she had to resort to such an obvious ploy, he got up from the kitchen table and reeled towards the outhouse. Nell wrinkled her nose: if it had to be a call to the privy that helped her, then she’d take what she could. Husbandless mothers couldn’t be squeamish. Best to wait for the return journey though.

He came back humming merrily as he negotiated the passageway with the elaborate care of the very drunk.

‘One, two, three,’ Nell counted under her breath, before sallying out from her hiding place to collide with him. With a deliberate flourish of petticoats and ankles, she rebounded to the floor.

‘Oh, Mistress Rivers, my apol– apples … apologies!’ Turville steadied himself against the wall as he offered a hand to help her up. ‘Are you hurt?’

Nell feigned a groan. ‘My leg, sir.’

Turville looked quite flustered, swaying like a tree in a gale. ‘I best get s-someone.’ He belched.

Fool!

‘I think you should check I haven’t broken anything,’ Nell prompted.

‘Oh.’ The big man went down on his knees like a shire horse reclining in its stall. Tentatively, he ran a hand over her ankle. ‘Here?’

‘Oh lud, sir! I fear the damage may be a little higher,’ she said breathily.

Turville crept closer and ran his hand up to her knee, stopping where her stocking met flesh. He ran his fingers around her garter. Nell could sense his embarrassed excitement at the liberty. ‘Here?’

‘I don’t think it’s injured but I do feel rather strange.’ Nell fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘My heart is racing and I feel as though I have butterflies in my stomach.’

‘Really?’ Turville had lost track of quite what he was supposed to be doing as his hand wandered somewhat higher. His breathing became heavy, wafting ale fumes over her. Lovely.

‘Yes. I’ve never felt anything quite like this before.’ She rubbed at her chest, ‘accidentally’ loosening her lacing. His eyes blearily followed her every move. Just a little more tickling and this trout would be hers. ‘Do … do you know what is wrong with me?’

‘Oh yes, my dear,’ he panted.

‘Is there a cure?’ She leant back on her elbows so his face was now level with her breasts.

‘I have … I have exactly what you need.’ He moved towards her, appearing intent on planting a kiss on her throat, but then at the last moment his arms gave out and he collapsed on top of her. She waited, gritting her teeth against the expected pawing. Next thing she heard were snores. Nell heaved, but to no avail: he was out cold. Wriggling, she managed to slide out sideways, leaving him face down on the tiled floor. She straightened her clothing and looked down at the mountain of man that had crushed her.

‘Fat-witted sot!’ She delivered a sharp kick to the ribs, but he stirred not. Her plans ruined for the moment, she flounced away to see if Henry required her company.